


Jealousy Is An Impossibility

by SilverShortyyy



Category: Ocean’s (Movies), Ocean’s 8 (2018), Ocean’s Eight (2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Light Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShortyyy/pseuds/SilverShortyyy
Summary: Debbie Ocean decides to pick Lou up from work after noticing that Lou was running a little late in getting home.It’s Constance’s birthday, after all. They all needed to be there for it.Debbie doesn’t exactly understand why she gets infuriated in the moments after seeing Lou grinding on a brunette with brown eyes. Because Debbie doesn’t get jealous, and what’s there to be jealous of, really?Lou thinks otherwise.





	Jealousy Is An Impossibility

When Debbie went against Tammy’s persuasive efforts to stay home and wait for Lou instead, she didn’t think it would cause too much trouble. She just thought that she might make a slight disturbance, since she might drag Lou away from whatever engagement she has for the while.

It was Constance’s birthday. As much as they were obviously all getting knocked out by alcohol or weed by the time dawn rolls in, they have to at least start before three-quarters of the city decides to retire for the day. That way, they’ll have more time to get wasted.

Thing was, Lou hadn’t gotten home at eleven. They had all agreed to assemble by eleven, then Constance would come at about midnight with some surprise snatches for wasting away the night.

So, naturally, Debbie thought it best to march off to Lou’s nightclub.

She didn’t quite expect the sight that her eyes led her to, though, the moment she opened the goddamned door.

Lou. A hungry smile on those lips. Body almost grinding onto another woman’s.

A brunette. A brown eyed brunette. And Lou has the audacity to slide her hands down the woman’s sides, to cup the woman’s ass, to pull the woman against her hips as if there’s a boner that could possibly pop out of Lou’s god-forbidden leather pants—

Debbie is walking up the stairs, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

“Lou!”

“Oh hey Deb!” Lou says, still grinding onto the woman, one hand on the woman’s lower back while another braces on the rails.

“It’s getting late, you know. You should probably go home now.” Debbie’s eyes grow wider, and she nods, smiling, trying to get the message across.

“Oh! Well,” Lou passes it all off nonchalantly, having the damned _audacity_ to even bid goodbye to her _bitch_ with a _kiss_ on the _cheek_. The woman walks away, giving Lou a wink while Lou gives her a once over. “Let’s go then!”

* * *

When Constance gets home, Debbie still wasn’t back with Lou.

Of course, she speaks too soon when she asks, because the shouting is hardly inaudible from down the hall.

Or, well, down three floors.

“What are you even getting so worked up about?! I was just dancing with someone, no big deal! I wasn’t even planning to sleep with her! Nothing! Nada!”

“Well, then, you seemed like you had completely forgotten Constance’s birthday dinner tonight! I mean, you seem to almost be _orgasmic_ from _pounding your goddamned hips_ onto that woman!”

“ _Orgasmic_ — Deb, what are you even saying?!”

“ _Don’t even feign innocence with me!_ ”

“I’m not feigning _anything_ , and if there’s anything, _you’re_ the one who seems to have _her panties_ in a twist!”

By now, the twosome are in front of Lou’s door.

Of course the rest of them decide to hide in plain sight. It’s more suspicious if they’ll go to their rooms, or if they jump out the window, or whatever other option there is when it comes to hiding from Lou Miller and Debbie Ocean.

Constance has her eyebrows constantly going up, eyes making contact with every single person in the room.

When the doors bang open (at Debbie’s hand)—then close (at Lou’s hand)—they all pretend to be slightly high already, though silently so.

“I _do not_!”

“Oh, _baby_ , you are _so sexually frustrated_ right now, I could  _smoke_ your sexual frustration.”

Debbie storms, and Lou follows her, and of course they find their way to Lou’s bedroom, where the door slams shut behind Lou, leaving the other six to sit and wonder.

“So,” Constance says, an unlit blunt between her fingers. “Do we wait for them or do we just… Do whatever already?”

* * *

“What are you _implying_ , huh, saying I’m ‘ _sexually frustrated_ ’ right now?” Debbie shouts, and stands in the middle of Lou’s bedroom, only subconsciously aware of their company in the living room. Her arms are crossed, heels pressed hard into the carpet.

Debbie doesn’t understand why she finds Lou so infuriating today, why she wants those shoulders to slacken up and that gaze to be a little more submissive, why she wants those eyes not to look at her like that, but then _how else does she want it_? She doesn’t know, Debbie doesn’t know, but she damn does know she’s pissed at Lou.

Getting distracted? Oh ho, people like them aren’t allowed to get distracted.

“I’m _saying_ that you’re just _jealous of me_ because at least _I_ can get to _grind_ even if I don’t get _laid_.” Lou prowls closer, and Debbie stands her ground, turning to wear Lou prowls, Lou’s back now to the wall and Debbie’s back to the queen-sized bed. But then Lou stops, eyes widening the slightest bit and jaw tightening.

Lou’s arms cross in front of her chest.

Those eyes suddenly turn predatorial, hungrier than they were looking at that woman in the nightclub. Suddenly prowling is more like hunting, but Debbie keeps her head high, standing her ground until Lou’s body is almost pressed against hers, Lou’s lips barely brushing the shell of Debbie’s ear.

“Unless,” Lou says, voice nothing but a rumble, a husk, a baritone like velvet fire pouring itself into Debbie’s veins. Debbie gulps as silently as she can (but she knows Lou can feel it), trying hard to ignore her heartbeat, and the heat in the room despite the air conditioning, and the flush that her body has adapted to, especially lower, lower, lower… “Unless, _babe_ , you were jealous of that brunette.”

No.

No, no, no.

“I’m not,” Debbie has to pull in a breath when the tips of Lou’s fingers slowly push, scaling up the inside of Debbie’s thigh with an agonizing pace. No. Deborah Ocean does not get jealous of nightclub grinding. “J-jealous.”

“Oh really baby?” Lou whispers, and Debbie hates it, and loves it, but she can’t love it, but she wants more.

No. She isn’t jealous. Definitely not.

Sexually frustrated? Maybe. Maybe not.

Debbie hates being proved wrong like this.

Lou’s body comes closer, and Debbie inches back. Back. Back, until the back of her knees bump into the bedframe, and Lou’s knee wedges between Debbie’s knees. Lou’s thigh presses hard into the gap, and Debbie gasps.

“Seems to me like you are.”

“Like h-hell I was j-jealous of some…” Debbie looks away, off into the corner of the ceiling. Lou inches lower, her breath brushing down Debbie’s ear and onto her neck. “Some… Brunette…”

“Mhm.” Lou lets her lips vibrate against Debbie’s skin, and Debbie’s eyes close shut. God, no.

Like hell is Lou Miller doing this to her.

“I wa-wasn’t!” Debbie says, but she’s breathless now, and slowly, slowly lowering onto the bed. The conviction is barely there in her voice, and she’s sure it’s been replaced by something a little more desperate.

“Oh, you were, _darling baby girl_.” Debbie feels herself fall onto the sheets, hair splaying all around her head.

Above her, Lou looks hungry, hungrier than any human could ever be, as if Debbie is the most delectable meal on earth and Lou had been teased by sniffs instead of tastes for the past thirty years.

“Are you going to admit it now?” Lou says, arms lowering her, her lips getting closer and closer to Debbie’s own.

“No.” Debbie says, eyes convincing but cheeks flushed deeper than she has ever felt them flush before.

Lou lowers herself, and Debbie almost whimpers at the contact. Lips brush her ear, and Lou’s voice lowers to something definitely teasing, definitely challenging.

“Then no satisfaction for you until you admit you were jealous.”

Lou pushes herself off Debbie and off the bed, hair slightly mussed up and eyes darker than they usually are. Debbie wonders how she could possibly have been jealous. It’s not like she owned Lou or anything; they’re best friends, not lovers.

Then again, Debbie thinks, maybe they crossed those boundaries the moment they first got away with stepping over the line of the law.

* * *

Rose had suggested someone check if there’d been murder the moment the shouting suddenly disappeared. They’d expected something more gradual, but the shouting just suddenly disappeared.

Odd, they thought. But the idea of murder was out of the question. Those two would never murder each other.

Maybe murder each other between the legs, but not actual murder.

Nine Ball gave the right response when she shook her head with wide eyes.

“No.” She said. “If neither of them come out in the next twenty-four hours, and shit is still silent, then yes, we go check.” Her eyes emphasized her words carefully. “But not. Now.”

When Lou practically skips down the stairs with her vest somewhat pulled lower so that her breasts actually look like they might pop out, and when Debbie follows suit soon after looking mussed and bothered, they know they made the right choice not to check yet.

Later that night (or day), they had all blacked out by the time Debbie and Lou found their way back into Lou’s bedroom, Debbie’s body falling gracefully onto the bed and Lou climbing on top of her like one would ride a horse.

Amita finds Lou’s vest hanging haphazardly on the bannister somewhere between later that day and the next night.


End file.
